The other Indians, upon learning what had happened to their advance, fired several shots without effect, but which hastened our retreat down the river.  We reached Fort Kearny just as the reveille was being sounded, bringing the wounded man with us.  After the peril through which we had passed, it was a relief to feel that once more I was safe after such a dangerous initiation.

Frank McCarthy immediately reported to the commanding officer and informed him of all that had happened.  The commandant at once ordered a company of cavalry and one of infantry to proceed to Plum Creek on a forced march—­taking a howitzer with them—­to endeavour to recapture the cattle from the Indians.

The firm of Russell, Majors, & Waddell had a division agent at Kearny, and this agent mounted us on mules so that we could accompany the troops.  On reaching the place where the Indians had surprised us, we found the bodies of the three men, whom they had killed and scalped and literally cut into pieces.  We, of course, buried the remains.  We caught but few of the cattle; the most of them had been driven off and stampeded with the buffaloes, there being numerous immense herds of the latter in that section of the country at the time.  The Indians’ trail was discovered running South toward the Republican River, and the troops followed it to the head of Plum Creek, and there abandoned it, returning to Fort Kearny without having seen a single redskin.

The company’s agent, seeing that there was no further use for us in that vicinity—­as we had lost our cattle and mules—­sent us back to Fort Leavenworth.  The company, it is proper to state, did not have to stand the loss of the expedition, as the government held itself responsible for such depredations by the Indians.

On the day that I got into Leavenworth, sometime in July, I was interviewed for the first time in my life by a newspaper reporter, and the next morning I found my name in print as “the youngest Indian slayer on the plains.”  I am candid enough to admit that I felt very much elated over this notoriety.  Again and again I read with eager interest the long and sensational account of our adventure.  My exploit was related in a very graphic manner, and for a long time afterward I was considerable of a hero.  The reporter who had thus set me up, as I then thought, on the highest pinnacle of fame, was John Hutchinson, and I felt very grateful to him.  He now lives in Wichita, Kansas.

In the following summer, Russell, Majors, & Waddell entered upon a contract with the Government for transporting supplies for General Albert Sidney Johnston’s army that was sent against the Mormons.  A large number of teams and teamsters were required for this purpose, and as the route was considered a dangerous one, men were not easily engaged for the service, though the pay was forty dollars a month in gold.  An old wagon-master named Lew Simpson, one of the best who ever commanded a bull-train, was upon the